


unscripted

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelings, Fingering, First Time, M/M, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve never done anything by the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unscripted

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Cas offering to take Dean's temperature in 11.10, but set at an indeterminate point in the future. No spoilers. 
> 
> Thank you to LoversAntiquities & GlassClosetCastiel for looking this over!

He hears the knocking a little after midnight—quiet but insistent, three taps in a row. Cas always knocks in the same manner but doesn’t try the knob until Dean finds his voice and mumbles that he can come in.

“Leave the light off,” Dean says without opening his eyes.

Cas lingers in the doorway, probably wondering if he’s supposed to come closer, even though Dean’s lost count of how many times he’s fallen asleep with Cas at his side. He thrusts a hand out from the covers and pats Cas’s empty half of the bed.

“You were sleeping,” Cas says, as though he hadn’t considered that possibility at this hour.

“Not yet. Come over here.” Dean pats the bed again, hardly lifting his palm from the mattress between each tap. The bed dips next to him, forcing Dean to shift his weight to his left side to keep from rolling into Cas.

“How are you feeling?” Cas rests a warm hand on the back of Dean’s exposed neck, carding fingers into his hair. They’re at an undefined point in their relationship. And it _is_ a relationship, if Dean’s being honest with himself—the last one he plans on having. Cas isn’t his boyfriend (horrible term) or his lover (worse), not yet, but Dean’s grown comfortable with Cas sitting on top of the covers in a suit and socks, watching Netflix while Dean sleeps. Watching Dean. It’s incredible that Cas’s staring habit, which unnerved Dean just a few years back, has become a comfort. He prefers sleeping with Cas nearby.

“You feel warm,” Cas says.

“Fightin’ off a fever.”

“Sam told me. Can I bring you something?”

“Nah, it’s not bad. Rather let it burn out.”

“Do you mind if I stay?”

He always asks.

In reply, Dean fists a hand into Cas’s shirt and pulls him down onto the mattress. Cas lies on his side and positions himself so that he curves around Dean’s body—unconsciously possessive. His skin is cold from being outside. Sam said they were expecting a winter storm. Dean didn’t realize it started; they can’t hear the wind howl underground.

“Missed you,” he says.

Cas nuzzles his hair, moving his cheek against it in slow circles, and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. Dean’s never been handled so tenderly. There are times he’s uncertain whether he’s comfortable with it, but here, in the dark privacy of his— _their_ —bedroom, he makes a pleased noise and crowds into Cas’s chest. He puts a hand inside Cas’s suit to touch him through his shirt.

They haven’t been skin-to-skin yet. Cas’s touches hedge intimacy but never push beyond chaste—Dean sets the pace between them. Whatever they are to one another, whatever they become, Cas is not a one-night stand. Dean wants to unravel him over time, earn every heated look, coax moans out of Cas that he’s never made for anyone. To fall asleep next to Cas for the rest of his life.

Cas’s heart beats a promise against his palm.

If Dean feels better tomorrow, maybe they can take a drive. Replenish supplies, see a movie, grab dinner. Make a date of it, like normal people. He’s got a button-down shirt that would look good on Cas—it’s still got the tags on it, and Cas fits his jeans. They’re a little loose around his waist, but his thighs fill them out nicely. Dean thinks of them together in public, Cas dressed in his clothing like a claim, and shivers.

Cas mistakes it as a symptom of his fever and palms Dean’s forehead. The bedroom is dark, but Cas’s frown is etched in the blue glow from the alarm clock, one Cas spotted at a warehouse store and insisted they buy for his room. It migrated to Dean’s without fanfare a few months ago, along with Cas’s spare phone charger. His striped tie got mixed in with Dean’s, and Dean wore it a few times without thought—that’s how he inadvertently outed their unofficial cohabitation to Sam, who laughed at Dean’s obvious discomfort and confessed he’d suspected for a while. When Dean asked how, Sam shrugged.

“It’s the way you look at him sometimes.”

A couple weeks later, Dean found a secondhand nightstand and lamp for the opposite side of the bed. Cas leaves his phone to charge overnight and reads and watches over Dean.

He’s watching now, concerned in a way that should be suffocating, but Dean is invigorated by it. His eyes, so heavy just a minute ago that sleep was imminent, flutter open. Cas moves his hand across Dean’s forehead and uses two fingers to check his lymph nodes for swelling. Dean grins at Cas’s ministrations.

“Gonna check my temperature?”

Cas’s hand stills in Dean’s hair long enough for him to swallow. “You wouldn’t let me last time.”

“We were on the side of a _highway_ last time.”

“Open your mouth.”

It’s not quite what he had in mind, but Dean obeys the command in Cas’s tone, though it takes all of his willpower not to lick the finger Cas slides into his mouth, under his tongue. His heart pounds in his neck and ears, in his throat. Cas’s finger is thick and clean tasting, tangy with soap. Dean’s lips close around it and their gaze is locked. Fixed. He can’t see Cas’s pupils, but from the labored way Cas is breathing, they’ve got to be blown wide.

Dean tightens his grip on Cas’s shirt, but Cas withdraws his finger, painting a wet stripe across Dean’s lip. He chases Cas’s finger with his teeth.

“What’s the prognosis, doc? Am I gonna make it?”

Cas traces the seam of Dean’s lips, over and over, side to side. “The fever is slight.”

Dean kisses his fingertip, leaving his mouth open in invitation, and waits. Cas continues to move his finger, corner to corner, halving the distance with each sweep, until it’s positioned at the center of Dean’s lip and Dean is shaking.

“Is this...is this what you want?” Cas asks, hesitant even though Dean is naked under the sheet beside him, a hand balled in his shirt, and Cas’s other hand is buried in Dean’s hair.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He draws Cas’s fingertip into his mouth and sucks hard, releasing it with a wet sound. “You?”

Cas nods once, so Dean takes it as permission to draw Cas’s finger fully into his mouth, sealing his lips and laving his tongue against the underside. He rocks his hips so his erection presses into Cas’s hip and confirms that Cas is hard too. Dean grinds against him, slowly.

“Y’know,” he confesses, pressing forward to elicit a groan from Cas. “When you said you were gonna take my temperature, I thought you were gonna touch me someplace else.”

The confusion in Cas’s voice is endearing. “What do you mean?”

Dean slides one hand under Cas’s waistband and digs blunt fingernails into his ass to demonstrate.

“Oh,” Cas breathes.

“Yeah.”

“I understand why you didn’t feel it would be appropriate last time.”

“Well, just us now, so...” Dean pulls the sheet aside.

“Dean...”

“Only if you want to.”

Cas sits up, and for one terrible moment Dean thinks he’s going to leave, that he pushed too far much too soon, but Cas unbuttons his jacket and lays it at the foot of the bed. He loosens his tie and crawls onto the mattress, boxing Dean in with his arms and legs.

Panting, Dean looks up at him, opening his mouth when Cas taps his lips. He gets Cas’s fingertip extra wet and nods that yes, he’s sure. He wants to do this.

The first touch is strange. Dean’s body automatically clenches around the intrusion, but Cas leans close to his face, so close that Dean can’t look him in the eye. Dean tries to relax. It’s not that he hasn’t done this before, but it was always with a woman (bonus round during a blowjob) and this is...

This is _Cas_. His hands aren’t petite. He touches without skill. Dean squirms, fighting the instinct that tells him this is uncomfortable. That voice telling him he shouldn’t like it. Cas is barely inside of him, but the precise movement of his finger causes Dean to break out in a sweat. It’s an intimacy he’s never known with anyone.

“Cas, please... _please_.” It’s all right to say that. He can pant against Cas’s neck, he can _beg_ , and Cas will never think less of him for it. Dean wants Cas to stretch him open and fill up every empty space inside. He asks again. “Please.”

Cas pushes deeper and Dean whines at the resulting burn, but he doesn’t ask Cas to stop. He latches onto Cas’s neck to suck a bruise into his skin and lets Cas stroke him. Cas tastes of fabric softener and salt. He has a finger inside Dean and they’ve never even kissed.

Dean lifts his head to change that, rubbing his cheek against Cas’s jaw before seeking out his mouth. He hovers over Cas’s lips, cupping his face with both hands when Cas makes a sound like he’s been punched, and, groaning, drops his face to Dean’s shoulder. It takes a few seconds for Dean to register what happened, why Cas has gone pliant in Dean’s arms.

“Dude, did you just...?” he asks, disbelieving, and switches on the light.

“That...that was...intense.” Cas fits words in between breaths and stares at the wet spot on his pants. Dean throws his head back to laugh at the two of them. He’s fully naked on top of the covers, his chest mottled pink, cock full and leaking; it’s left shiny trails on his stomach and thighs. But it’s Cas who appears debauched: shirt half-open and rumpled, color high in his cheeks. He stares at his hand still between Dean’s legs in wonder, then rakes his eyes over Dean’s body and blushes further.

“I apologize,” he says.

“No need. C’mere.”

Cas nestles into Dean’s side and crooks his finger, resuming his slow tease. He watches Dean curl a hand around his cock, giving it steady, firm pulls for several minutes, until his entire body is electrified. Cas slides his free hand to meet Dean’s, fist wrapped over fist, pumping in time with Dean’s movements. He shudders when Dean gasps and squeezes around him, and spills over their hands.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers into his ear, thick with meaning, infused with the feelings between them they don’t put words to. He says it again (“ _Dean._ ”) and Dean’s on the verge of tears, hearing Cas say his name like that.

They get out of bed long enough to clean up at the wall-mounted pedestal sink opposite the bed. Dean rearranges the pillows and lies in wait, crossing his ankles and admiring the view when Cas sheds his clothes and walks, unashamed, toward him. He switches off the light. Dean rolls onto his side and presses himself naked against Cas’s body, wraps both arms around him, and works a knee between his thighs. The fever lingers, an ache in his elbows and in his knees. He greedily soaks up Cas’s body heat.

Tomorrow, he’ll take Cas on a date. He’ll hold open the car door, let Cas eat more than half of the dessert, and he won’t be terrified. He won’t, because he knows they’ll end up here, like this, curled together in the dark.

“I love you,” he says, something he never expected to _feel,_ let alone articulate, and kisses Cas for the first time: sweetly, in the hazy and contented aftermath. Kisses him for the first time in the room that has been theirs for months. Finally kisses the person he unknowingly chose to spend his life with years ago, but then again, they’ve never done anything by the rules.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank S11 for the level of Dean/Cas over S10. Between 11.10 and the blanket scene, I'm in a bit of euphoria. This is also posted [to tumblr](http://www.museaway.com/post/137918233765/unscripted).


End file.
